


Chrysanthemum

by katherine_tag



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Angst, Breaking Up & Making Up, Case Fic, Identity Issues, M/M, Post-Canon, Seriously Old Fic, Survivor Guilt, the author digs in her archives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-28
Updated: 2003-05-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:06:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22075924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherine_tag/pseuds/katherine_tag
Summary: It took two years after Aya left Tokyo for his past to come back to haunt him. Now a mysterious killer seems to be targeting Weiss, and they must find out who before it is too late.
Relationships: Fujimiya "Aya" Ran/Kudou Yohji
Kudos: 2





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote WK fanfiction between 2001 and 2004. Just posting here so it's all in one place.

The doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" Aya-chan yelled, running down the hall.  
Aya put the book he had been reading down on the arm of his chair and shook his head at his younger sister's exuberance. Even before . . . that unfortunate period in his life, he had always been more reserved than Aya-chan. But now he was Ran again, and he was finding it difficult to open up and become the boy Aya-chan expected him to be. In his deepest, most private thoughts, he still thought of himself as Aya, even though he had laid that name to rest when his precious sister had returned to him. He had changed, irrevocably, when he had killed for the first time. Ran had been gone since then, and now he was unable to be Aya as well.

He heard his sister answer the door, and a deep mellow voice saying, "You must be Aya-chan." His blood ran cold. He knew that voice. He hurried the short distance to the hall, then set his mouth in a grim, determined line and stepped out to greet his visitor.

Seeing Youji again was almost a physical shock. His green eyes still sparkled, his mouth still formed that completely irresistible grin, he was still dressed impeccably as usual. A leather jacket was draped across one arm. His hair was shorter, darker, and artfully tousled. It gave him a more polished look. Their eyes met and it burned.

Youji paused almost imperceptibly. "Hello, Ran." He smiled, but his eyes were hooded and dark.

Aya-chan looked confusedly at them both. "Who is he, onii-chan?" she demanded.

Aya began to feel a vague disquiet growing in his mind. He had never told Aya-chan much about what he had been doing while she was . . . sleeping. "This is Kudou Youji," he said. "An old –" friend, teammate, lover "co-worker."

"Oh, at the flower shop?" Aya-chan was all sunny smiles. "Come in, Kudou-san."

Youji looked at her bemusedly. "So polite," he murmured, throwing a meaningful glance at Aya. "Please, call me Youji," he said as he slipped off his shoes. "You make me feel like an old man."

"Would you like some tea, Youji-san?"

Aya suppressed a frown. He didn't want Youji here. He must have some ulterior motive for coming by. Aya had tried to cut things off cleanly with all his old teammates, but he should have guessed that Omi wouldn't have let him get off so easily. Well, Kritiker could say whatever it wanted, but he wasn't going to get drawn into that mess again. His sister came first. Above everything. Kritiker had never understood that. Neither had Youji.

"Tea would be nice, Aya," he said softly. "Thank you."

She bounded down the hallway toward the kitchen, and Aya and Youji were left alone. The disquiet was growing into a sharply looming gray cloud screaming _danger!_ Aya squared his shoulders. "How did you know where I lived?" he spit out.

Youji gave him a disbelieving look.

Kritiker then. Damn Omi. Damn him straight to hell. "Why didn't you call first?"

"Thanks for the warm welcome," Youji said sarcastically. He brushed past him and peered into the living room. "Nice place you got here." His voice floated out of the room as he explored.

Aya felt something akin to violation. He gritted his teeth and followed Youji. "What do you want?"

Youji looked up from the picture he was holding. Aya-chan stared cheerily out at them, forever frozen in her happiness. "I don't really want to talk about it here," he said heavily. "Come out and have a drink with me."

Anything to get him out of the apartment and away from Aya-chan. "All right."

Youji set the picture down and shrugged into his jacket. Moving toward the door, he brought out a pack of cigarettes and a silver lighter. He stuck one in his mouth and said, "I'll be outside," shutting the door quietly behind him.

Aya stuck his head in the kitchen where Aya-chan was humming brightly and arranging cups on a tray. "We're going out," he said shortly.

"But," she started, gesturing to the kettle, the cups. "I thought," she tried again.

"I'll be back sometime tonight. Not too late," he informed her.

"Oh."

She looked so despondent standing there that Aya went to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "We have some things we need to talk about," he said vaguely. "We don't want to disturb your studies." He poked her and she rewarded him with a smile.

"Well, have fun then, onii-chan," she said, and stood up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

He gave her a small smile and turned away. "I'm sure we will."

* * *

They sat at a dark corner table in the bar. Youji lifted a hand as he adjusted his chair with the other, garnering the attention of a tired looking waitress. They remained silent, Aya stoically studying the walls, Youji fidgeting with his cigarettes, until the waitress brought their drinks and they could talk without being interrupted.

"You haven't changed at all." Youji finally lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke off to the side of the table.

Aya eyed him speculatively. "What did you do to your hair?"

Youji ducked his head, grinning sheepishly as he ran his hand through dark, short locks. "A sacrifice on the altar of anonymity. Don't worry, I'm just as much fun as before."

Aya snorted. "All right," he said mildly. "No more small talk. Why are you here?"

Suddenly serious, Youji took a deep drag on his cigarette, avoiding Aya's gaze. "Ken's dead, Ran."

Shocked, Aya could only sit numbly, one hand clutching his sweating glass, as Youji went on.

"Someone set fire to his apartment building. It was obviously arson, and we're still sifting through the evidence in conjunction with the local police. Omi's taking it kind of hard, and we both thought you should know, in case you wanted to go to his memorial service."

"Hn," Aya managed. Ken. Ken was dead. Vibrant, joyful Ken, who wore his heart on his sleeve. Ken, who was the most knight-like out of all of them.

"I don't know why he insisted on doing . . . that kind of work, after Weiss broke up." Youji was fiddling with his lighter, flicking it on and off. The cigarette lay forgotten in the ashtray, a few small tendrils of smoke drifting up toward the ceiling. "He didn't have to keep killing. Omi was always trying to talk him out of it, let someone else step in for a while."

"Maybe he couldn't help it." Aya took a large swallow of his drink, wincing a little at the bitter sting of it on his tongue.

Youji's eyes met Aya's briefly before dropping them to stare at his lighter again. "I still work for them occasionally," he said. "But I'll never go back to that."

Finishing his drink in another swallow, Aya stood up. "Tell Omi I'm sorry," he said. "But I have to stay here with Aya-chan."

Youji half stood, leaning over the table. "Wait, there's something else you need to know."

Aya remained standing. "What?" he growled. He wanted to get back to his other life. He wanted to talk to his sister, so she could make him forget his dark past and call him Ran again. That name on Youji's lips sounded utterly foreign.

"Ken was the third agent to die in the past month."

"The third?" Aya interrupted.

Youji nodded. "The first was a boating accident. Omi didn't start to get really suspicious until the second agent was found shot to death in his own house. Nakata-san was old Kritiker, Ran. He knew who Weiss was. And then Ken . . ." Youji trailed off, pressing his lips together.

Aya sat back down abruptly. "You think," he began, horrified. The dark, ominous feeling from earlier came back a thousand fold.

"Don't worry, Aya," Youji smiled a tired little smile. "Nakata didn't know you live in Osaka now. He only knew your name."

He fixed Youji with a baleful stare. "Don't call me that." He absolutely did not need Youji adding to his personality crisis now. He didn't need to remember the way he said it when they . . . he deliberately pushed those memories away, locking them deep inside his heart again.

"You didn't seem to mind before," Youji said. "Until she woke up," he added bitterly. "She was always more important than us, wasn't she?"

Aya knew where this was going. "Yes, she is," he hissed, slamming his fist on the table and looking straight into Youji's suddenly hooded expression. His 'I don't want you to see how this hurts me' expression. But he went on anyway. "And don't talk to me about 'us.' You were the one who ran into that fucking Schrient woman's arms without a second thought. Asuka, Asuka," he mocked, knowing he was being cruel and not caring.

Youji's face twisted. "Asshole," he spat. "You left first." He rose, slapping some yen down on the table. "No 'goodbye,' no 'so long it's been fun,' nothing. You left first." He stalked out of the bar, leaving Aya with two empty glasses, a pile of yen, a still smoking cigarette butt, and a silver-plated lighter.

He sighed heavily, picking up the lighter and flipping the cap up. For some reason, he felt very tired. Soul weary. He clicked it on and watched the flame rise. It was Youji's lighter. He never went anywhere without it. Youji would be back. The flame flickered, shining unsteadily in the dim light of the bar. Suddenly angry, with himself, or with Youji, he wasn't sure, he savagely closed the cap and threw the lighter down on the table. He laid his head in his arms. The table smelled of smoke and grease and cleaning solution, but it didn't matter.

Ken was dead.


	2. Part II

With a small sigh, Aya let himself into the apartment he shared with his sister. He flipped on the hall light as he shut and locked the door behind him. Slumping against it for a moment, he put aside his barely admitted grief for Ken to think about more pressing problems. So Omi and Youji thought that someone was targeting Weiss. With Nakata's, and now Ken's deaths, it certainly looked suspiciously like that to Aya too.  
A brief flash of panic seared through his gut. What if they? What if –

He ran, almost tripping in his haste, down the hallway to Aya-chan's room. The sight of her face, soft and pale in the faint light coming from her window, released the constricting hold fear had on his heart. She shifted a little in her sleep, making a contented noise. He breathed easier. She was safe.

Leaning against the doorframe, Aya watched her sleeping. This had become a habit of his when he woke sweating and gasping in the night, after dreaming bloody dreams. It was nothing like that silent vigil he had kept at her bedside for years, staring at her silent, still form and wondering if she would ever wake up. Wondering if she would ever open her eyes to look at him again, and in so doing, absolve him of all of his sins. For if she had never awakened . . . it would have all been in vain. He would have been a bloody murderer for nothing. And no light would shine on his life again.

Briefly, he had considered letting Youji into his world. But the older man had never lit up his life like Aya-chan had. Youji hadn't understood his moods, or the words he had spoken with his eyes. Aya-chan had. Aya had also found that he was unable to even let down his guard enough for Youji to be satisfied. He wanted a deep, and to Aya, terrifying emotional intimacy. All Aya's focus, all his emotions had been wrapped up with his sister, and he had none left over for anyone else. Aya-chan had always come first, because she was all he had left. If he had let himself love Youji as much as he loved Aya-chan, he would have lost him. That was something he could not have borne again. So he walled himself away as much as he could, and finally, he had just left.

Now, though, now . . . Aya-chan was awake. The terrible, all consuming anger that had driven him was gone. But somehow, the light in his life was not as bright anymore. Somehow, Aya-chan had become not enough.

The soft, but insistent ring of the phone instantly jolted him from his train of thought. He frowned, hurrying toward the kitchen. "Fujimiya," he said tersely.

Youji's voice spilled out into his ear. "Fuck, Aya you have to get out of there now."

Dread coiled, icy cold. "What?"

"Someone just fucking shot at me, okay?" Youji sounded winded, as if he had been running.

He probably had, Aya realized grimly. "You think –" he began.

"It seems likely doesn't it? And if whoever it is didn't know where you lived before, they sure as hell know now. You need to take Aya-chan and get the hell out of Osaka."

Aya struggled not to drop into that easy, familiar mission mode. "Where?" he ground out.

"Go to Momoe-san's. She still lives in Nagoya. You remember the address?"

"Yes." He had already lost the fight. His mind was whirling, planning, listing, plotting driving routes.

"Good. I'll meet you there."

"All right." A sudden thought struck him. If that _idiot_ – "Are you safe?"

Youji laughed breathlessly. "Mostly, for now." Faintly, Aya could hear noise in the background. "I'll be fine."

"Hn," he managed. He ground his teeth in frustration. It was just like Youji to call and warn Aya, endangering himself in the process.

"Don't _worry_ , Ran." Youji's voice was light. "I'll meet you in Nagoya, all right? Be careful!"

The dial tone buzzed in Aya's ear for a few seconds before he slowly hung up the phone. If Youji made it to Nagoya alive, he was going to kill the man himself.

* * *

To Aya, the silence in the car was almost deafening. Aya-chan was staring out the window, wide awake even though it was now almost one in the morning. He could see her giving him small questioning looks every once in a while out of the corner of his eye, but he ignored it for now. It was time, he supposed, to come clean to his sister, and tell her exactly the kind of evil person he had become.

When he had woken her up, Aya had only told her they needed to go to Nagoya for a while, and to pack some clothes. She had started to argue, but the look on his face had been more than enough to stop her. For the two years since they had left Tokyo for good he had avoided mentioning his time there to Aya-chan. He knew how she would react when he told her the boy she had grown up with and still innocently loved had turned into a cold-blooded killer. With fear and disgust. He deserved nothing better. Aya-chan, his sweet, sweet sister. He couldn't bear to lose her now. Not now that she was so very much alive. _Damn_ this nameless and faceless danger that was forcing his hand.

Aya had been so wrapped up in avoiding the past that he hadn't even prepared himself for an eventuality like this. What should he tell her?

"Aya –" he began.

She turned to face him. "Ran nii-chan, why are we going to Nagoya?"

The words on the tip of his tongue melted away. "Ah." He paused for a moment, preparing himself for this task. "While you were in a coma, I was involved with an organization that dealt out justice when the law couldn't, or wouldn't." He risked a brief glance at her face, and was surprised to see that her expression was calm. "Youji was too," he added as an afterthought.

Aya-chan's voice was flat. "Did you kill people?"

He shot a brief, shocked glance her way. He didn't want to say it, to make it real, but he couldn't lie, not to her. "Yes." That admission seared his gut, and with it came a white hot pain that almost brought tears to his eyes. "Now one of my team members has been killed." Aya stopped there, compressing his lips. _Not_ his team anymore.

"Oh." She sat there in silence for a few minutes, twisting her hands in her lap. "And now someone wants to kill you?"

Aya didn't dare look at her face, too afraid of what he would see. This was it. This was the end of his life. "Aa." He wished for a large hole to open up and swallow him down, down to Hell like he deserved. "There's something else." He bit his lip, absurdly afraid to tell her this, the least and most of his crimes.

"What is it?"

It all came out in a rush. "I took your name. They all knew me as Aya." He wanted to close his eyes, but instead looked steadily at the highway, not really seeing it at all.

Aya-chan's voice was incredulous. "Why?"

 _Why indeed?_ "Because you weren't there."

She sat, quietly digesting this information. Aya couldn't bear to look at her, so he just kept on driving automatically, eyes straight ahead. He felt as though he had torn his heart out of his chest, and it now lay in the palm of her hand, feebly pumping blood to a body it was no longer connected to. When Aya-chan spoke, it startled him, so much was he expecting never to hear her voice again.

"Nii-chan?"

He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. "Yes?"

"You're a big jerk."

"What?"

She smacked his arm lightly. "Why didn't you tell me? Didn't you trust me?"

He was speechless. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. Where were the angry recriminations? Where were the tearful goodbyes? He was sure his mouth was hanging open, as his mind tried to grasp this impossibility. She wasn't angry? She didn't despise him? "How?" he managed.

She sighed. "Sakura told me all of that ages ago," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "Really, Ran, how can I judge you when you did it all for me?" She patted his knee gently. "I just wish you had felt you could tell me sooner."

He found himself apologizing. "I'm sorry."

Smiling, Aya-chan settled herself deeper into the seat. "You better be, nii-chan. I'm missing school for this."


	3. Part III

Momoe-san hadn't seemed surprised to see them at all. _Youji probably called and warned her too,_ Aya thought sourly. _Gods be damned idiot doesn't know when to save his own sorry ass._

He settled himself in a deep armchair with a clear view of the front door. Momoe-san had greeted Aya and his sister and unceremoniously shown them to their rooms. After dropping his bags in 'his' room, Aya had gone to check on his sister. Aya-chan was fast asleep now, though she had made it a point to tell him she loved him. His expression unconsciously darkened.

What Aya knew Sakura believed about him, and what he knew himself to be were two very different things. She had misinterpreted her childish infatuation with him as love, and that rose-colored innocence had tinted everything she saw. She believed he was some kind of white knight, dispensing poetic justice and rescuing damsels in distress. Aya-chan's blase reaction to his past only told him that Sakura had poisoned her mind with that girlish tripe as well. He had never been able to make Sakura understand who he really was, blind as she was to his detestable chosen profession.

He was a murderer. A killer. That was all.

He had experienced a temporary moment of weakness and a lapse in judgement when his sister had magically awakened. All he wanted was to believe that he could leave that life behind, and begin again. His hand reached up to tug at an earring that was no longer there. He twisted the small hoop that was its replacement reflectively. Aya's life since he had left Tokyo had been one long minute, waiting for the day when Aya-chan discovered the truth about him and rejected him. It still hadn't come.

A nagging pain finally acquired his attention. He pulled Youji's lighter out of his pocket, where it had been digging into his hip. Aya stared at it for a moment or two. Youji had carried this lighter ever since they had met. It was with the older man wherever he went, and his pants inevitably had small rectangular worn spots on the front right pocket. Youji was unusually protective of it as well. Aya caressed it with his thumb, feeling the ridges of the designs on the side. Like so many of the other things his former lover cherished, it was of the best quality. Youji had expensive taste.

Suddenly a craving he hadn't expected to feel again hit Aya forcefully. Leaning to the side, he dug through the desk nestled against the wall. Momoe-san usually was ... ah, there they were. Youji's favorite brand even. Tapping the pack on his knee, he slid a cigarette out and set it back in the desk drawer, closing it with a soft shushing noise.

Sticking the cigarette between his lips and lighting it with Youji's lighter, Aya inhaled deeply, sitting back in the chair again. He tilted his head back as he exhaled, reveling in the taste of this sometimes habit he had denied himself for more than two years. In fact, if he thought about it, he hadn't smoked since the last time he and Youji had ... his mind shied away from that subject. Closing his eyes instead, he savored his guilty pleasure.

He had been half hoping, half expecting Youji to already be here when he and Aya-chan had arrived. After all, Youji still had Super Seven, his roadster, and drove most of the time like a bat out of hell. Deep in his mind, however, Aya knew that this hope was an irrational one. Of course Youji would have to ditch his car. Unless he was prepared to take a chance and lead the killer right to Momoe-san's doorstep, he would have to find some other mode of transportation to Nagoya. But it was less than a hundred miles. It wouldn't take him that long, would it?

No, it would do him no good to worry about Youji. He could take care of himself. He was sitting out here instead of lying down in a nice, comfortable bed because he needed to plan. Aya started to mentally tick off all the questions he would have to ask Youji when he arrived. He absentmindedly checked his watch. Four in the morning already? Where was he?

His hands gripped the armrests of his chair, and he felt fear coiling deep in his stomach. He knew with a certainty now that something must have happened. No. Maybe the man was just being responsible for once and covering his tracks. Aya leaned forward, running his hands tiredly through his hair. His eyes felt like sandpaper. He knew he should try to sleep, but . . . He knew in his heart he wouldn't be able to until Youji showed up. To distract himself, he lit another cigarette.

Idly, Aya wondered what Youji was doing with his time in Tokyo now. Vaguely, he remembered Omi mentioning something about Youji reopening his private investigating business in one of his many chatty emails. It had to be going well, as it seemed Youji's habits hadn't changed.

Sighing, Aya leaned his head against the back of the armchair. Here, in the quiet before pre-dawn, in the space when time seemed to not move at all, or else move too quickly, while he was waiting with his heart in his throat, he could admit to himself that he missed Youji. He missed the way Youji kept a certain smile just for him, he missed the way the older man teased him, he even missed the smell of cigarette smoke in the morning. Aya knew, though, that things once lost were almost never found. A relationship with Youji now would be an impossibility.

He closed his eyes and resolved not to think about it.

* * *

A knock on the door jolted him out of the doze he had fallen into. With a glance at his watch ... _seven thirty!_ ... he hurried to answer.

Youji was leaning tiredly against the door frame. He was smiling, but Aya could see the small lines of pain hidden behind it. His face seemed paler than usual. He was wearing his leather jacket, zipped all the way up, and holding his right side. "Yo," he said.

Aya clenched the door with his hand. "Where the _hell_ have you been?" he hissed.

Sidling past him into the entryway, Youji gave him an incredulous look. "Why, Ran, I didn't know you cared," he said lightly.

 _I shouldn't._ "I don't," Aya spat, slamming the door.

Youji started to shrug, then caught himself. Aya barely saw his wince of pain. He turned his back on Aya, unzipping his jacket and heading down the hall to the bathroom. "Whatever."

Aya followed him, unable to let it go. He wasn't quite sure why he was so angry. There was a thunking sound as something hit the floor, presumably Youji's jacket. Aya opened his mouth to say something, he didn't know what, but the words died on his lips when he saw the t-shirt covered in blood wrapped around Youji's waist. "You're hurt," he managed.

"Yeah, you think?" Youji asked sarcastically as he gingerly tried to peel the impromptu bandage away from his skin.

Brushing his hands aside, Aya took over. "You told me you were safe," he said accusingly.

Their eyes met in the mirror as Youji leaned forward to clutch the counter with both hands. "I lied."

"Idiot." Aya pulled the shirt sharply away from Youji's side.

Youji gave a surprised yelp. "Jesus fucking Christ, Aya! That fucking hurt!"

Impassively, Aya handed him a damp washcloth and began setting up the first aid kit. "You should have told me you were injured," he said. He lifted the washcloth aside for a moment and studied the wound. "You're lucky. The bullet just grazed your side." He shook some disinfectant onto a gauze pad. "You don't need stitches."

"Well thank God." Youji dabbed at the blood trickling down his side. "I don't think I could take you stabbing me with a needle after being pushed around for two fucking hours on the commuter train."

So that's why he was so late. "What happened?" Aya methodically began cleaning the wound.

Youji closed his eyes and placed his hands on the counter again. Aya could see small lines of pain radiating around them. He wasn't trying to be gentle. "After we . . . talked, I walked around a bit. I was in a park when it happened. He must have been behind me, the bastard." He took a shallow breath. "So I got the hell out of there and then I called you and Momoe-san. I drove to Kyoto, and then took the train here. I waited around in the station for a while. No one was following me by then." He hissed through his teeth as Aya pressed more gauze against the gash.

"Hold that," Aya commanded. He started carefully wrapping flexible bandages around Youji's middle. "You shouldn't have endangered yourself like that."

Youji didn't answer, his eyes still closed, concentrating on keeping his breathing even.

Aya bit his lip as his hands brushed Youji's skin. This warmth, this scene, it reminded him of a distant time. Of Youji gripping the counter with his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open as he gasped for air. His hands finished tying the bandages automatically. He unconsciously stepped closer to Youji, leaning his head against the taller man's back. "Don't do that again," he said.

Youji's shoulders stiffened. "Aya," he breathed.

Aya's head snapped up. What was he doing? This was not that place. This was not that time. It could never happen again. He had a responsibility to his sister to remember. "Don't call me that." He had to get away. He stepped into the hallway, out of the bathroom that suddenly seemed too small.

"Fine." Youji's voice sounded infinitely weary.

Turning, Aya said, "There are pain killers in the cabinet. Get some sleep, Youji." He dared not look at the other man's face.


	4. Part IV

The brilliance of the late morning sun piercing through the curtains woke Aya. He rolled over, flinging an arm across his eyes in an effort to block out the light. Briefly, he considered going back to sleep. Between his own thoughts and waiting for Youji to appear last night, he hadn't slept more than a few hours. His stomach, however, brusquely informed him that it wanted food, so he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting with his head in his hands, trying to clear the last vestiges of sleep from his mind.  
Scrubbing at his eyes, he finally stood and pulled on a clean t-shirt. He could hear Aya-chan's bright voice in the back of the house, presumably talking to Momoe. Aya smiled a little at that. He knew they would get along like a house on fire. Both seemed innocent on the outside, but had hidden depths. He had no illusions about Momoe's past. She was all Kritiker underneath that oblivious old woman facade.

His hand hesitated over Youji's lighter, laying on top of the otherwise empty dresser. On a whim, he picked it up and slipped it into the pocket of his sweat pants. The inexplicable craving he had felt last night hadn't abated. Maybe he could sneak out and have a smoke without Aya-chan noticing.

Aya paused outside the room where Youji was sleeping, indecisive as to whether he wanted to check on the older man or not. Shrugging, he carefully opened the door and peeked in. Youji lay sprawled on his stomach, a sheet loosely tangled around his waist. He was all smooth, golden skin, broken only by the white line of bandages wrapped around his ribs. His head was half buried under the pillow, blocking out the morning sun coming in through the open shades. Knowing what light sleepers they all had become, Aya made no move to close the blinds. He stood looking for a long moment, before a brief burst of laughter from the kitchen jerked him out of his trance.

Softly closing the door again, Aya made his way to the kitchen, running a hand through sleep-tousled hair. Aya-chan sat with Momoe-san at the table, drinking tea. They were both smiling over something. When she saw him, Aya-chan jumped up.

"Nii-chan! You slept in!"

He ruffled her hair, which he knew she hated. "Aa. I stayed up late."

She ducked out from underneath his hand, moving toward the counter to serve him some miso soup and rice. Aya sat down at the table, facing Momoe-san. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," she replied, crinkling her eyes in amusement. "And the other lost kitten found his way home safely?"

Aya snorted. "You could say that. He's sleeping."

"Good."

Aya-chan set down a steaming bowl in front of him, and he gave her a grateful look. For a few minutes he concentrated solely on appeasing his stomach. Aya-chan and Momoe-san continued their interupted conversation, and he tuned them out, preferring to let his mind wander. As much as he didn't want to, he knew he was going to have to leave Aya-chan for a while. Until this new danger was exposed and faced down, he couldn't stay here to endanger her. Besides, he couldn't just sit by and let the rest of his team die.

Although, truthfully, he supposed they weren't exactly his team anymore. Omi ran Kritiker now, so Aya had no real authority over him. Actually, he sincerely doubted he ever had . Omi was a sly one. He would have let Aya lead, having read, and most likely memorized, the psychological profile Kritiker had done. Still, Aya felt a genuine brotherly affection for Omi, and for Ken. To him, they had both seemed so young and innocent in comparison to their two older teammates. Of course, he had never felt the slightest bit of responsibility toward Youji. Youji knew exactly what he was doing, and if he wasn't prepared to face the consequences, well, that wasn't Aya's problem, was it?

No, it wasn't.

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and letting his mind float. He hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before, he knew, but now that he was awake, there was no way to convince his body to fall asleep again before nightfall. He half listened to his sister talk to Momoe-san about college, almost dozing.

Youji's voice in the hallway brought Aya back to instant awareness. He wandered in few seconds later, listening intently to the person on the other end of his cell phone. Aya's fingers gripped his knees as his eyes were drawn against his will down Youji's wiry frame. He was wearing nothing but low slung jeans, his muscled torso wrapped in the bandages Aya had put on. He licked his lips, remembering how that skin had tasted, how the muscles of Youji's stomach would bunch under his tongue.

He flinched when Youji slammed the phone down on the table, collapsing into a chair with a sigh. "That was Omi," he said, rubbing his temples.

Raising his eyebrows, Aya asked, "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah." In an achingly familiar gesture, Youji ran his hands over his hair, as if to pull it back into a non-existent ponytail. "He just wanted to chew me out for not checking in. I swear, that kid is just like ..." he stopped abruptly.

 _My mother,_ Aya finished that sentence mentally. He pressed his lips together and stared down at the smooth wooden surface of the table. He thought of his mother every day, every time he looked at Aya-chan. A melancholy sadness filled him. He didn't know anything about Youji's past. He had never asked, and Youji had never offered.

"Aya-chan," Momoe said brightly, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "would you like to see my garden?"

Glancing uncertainly at the two men studiously avoiding each other's eyes, Aya-chan said, "Yes, I think I would."

Aya almost opened his mouth and asked if he could come too. He knew, in no uncertain terms, that he did not want to be alone with Youji. His mind kept betraying him, remembering intimacies better left forgotten. Things that he had no place wanting back. He scowled. He didn't want them back. He didn't need anything more than Aya-chan.

At the crinkle of cellophane he brought his gaze reluctantly back to Youji again.

"Mind if I smoke?" Youji asked casually, opening up a small packet of matches.

Aya took Youji's lighter out of his pocket and slid it across the table. "Give me one," he said.

Youji raised an eyebrow at him, for the appearance of his missing lighter, or the resurgence of Aya's smoking habit, Aya wasn't sure. He didn't say anything though, just lit up and handed the pack to Aya.

Studiously avoiding thinking about anything, Aya concentrated on how it felt to breathe, how the smoke tasted on his tongue. Apparently Youji didn't feel the need to fill the silence for once, and the kitchen was quiet except for the occasional mutterings and sighs of any house. Aya stubbed out the butt of his cigarette in the dregs of his soup. He frowned as Youji winced, leaning forward carefully. "Let me look at that again."

Lighting another cigarette from the end of his first, Youji said, "What? Oh, sure." He stood briefly, flipping his chair around and straddling it. Propping himself up on his elbows on the table, he said, "Have at it."

* * *

Aya sat on the front steps of Momoe-san's house and smoked his fourth cigarette in three days. He and Youji had assiduously avoided being in the same room together alone for more than five minutes the previous day. Aya wondered how Youji felt about seeing him again. He wondered if the older man was as confused as he felt. _Probably not,_ he thought wryly. Youji had always known exactly what he wanted. It was Aya who, for once in his life, hadn't been sure.

The door creaked slightly as it opened behind him. "Hey, Ran?" Youji slipped out the door and stood behind him.

Aya didn't turn. "What do you want?" He crushed the butt out on the steps, already shaking another cigarette out of the pack held loosely in his hand.

"Omi called. He wants us to come to Tokyo right away."

Youji knelt and reached around him, lighting the cigarette Aya had just placed between his lips. His chest, pressed against Aya's back, was warm. He was acutely aware of Youji's breath as it whispered past his ear, his scent. Youji stood slowly, fingers brushing across Aya's neck in a light caress.

Aya shivered in tactile response. "Why?" he asked roughly.

"Our mysterious killer attacked again." Youji sighed. "This is getting really serious, Ran. We need to decide what to do before our luck runs out . . . again."

Wincing at the oblique reference to Ken, Aya took one last deep drag of his cigarette before standing. He dropped the still smoldering butt on the ground and ground it out with his boot heel. "Let's go then."

A half an hour later, he was ready to finish the job their unseen adversary had started. "Youji, we are _not_ going to Kyoto just to get your gods be damned car."

"Why the hell not, Ran? I can't just leave it there forever!"

Aya growled wordlessly and slammed his long duffel bag into the back of his Porsche. "You can get it later," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"Fine. If you don't want to go, just drop me off at the train station, and I'll get it myself."

"No!" Aya surprised even himself with the vehemence of the word. "Stop thinking about your car for a minute, and think about your life, Youji. You're coming to Tokyo with me." Couldn't he see that it was too dangerous?

Youji threw up his hands in defeat and slumped into the passenger seat. "Well, you're taking me to Kyoto after this is all over, then," he said, and slammed the door.

Pushing down a snarl of frustration, Aya turned to Momoe and Aya-chan standing in the driveway. He touched Aya-chan's cheek gently. "Don't worry, imouto," he said softly. "I'll see you later."

She nodded, pressing her lips together, fighting back tears. Her eyes pled with him to come home safely. He knew. He was the only family she had left.

Turning to Momoe-san, he bowed. "Please take care of my sister."

"It will be my pleasure, young man." Momoe-san smiled, resting her hand on the top of his head for a moment. "Keep them safe."

Aya met her eyes briefly. "Hai." He walked to the car, not trusting himself to look back at his sister. They hadn't been apart since she had woken up two years ago. He forced himself to believe she was safe here. It was more difficult than he expected, this leave taking. The open-endedness of their separation was strangely wrenching. If there was one thing he was sure of, however, it was that he did not want her to come to Tokyo with him, and witness his descent into Kritiker.

He slid into the low seat, bucking the seatbelt and starting the engine in one smooth movement. As he pulled out into the street, Youji dug out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his jacket pocket.

"Don't smoke in my car," Aya ordered him.

Youji gave him a murderous look. "Prick," he spat, throwing the pack on the dashboard and slouching down in his seat.

By the time he had passed the city limits, Youji was asleep. Glancing over, Aya frowned at the dark circles evident under the other man's eyes. Apparently he wasn't the only one who had trouble sleeping. This had to be a new development. Except for the nightmares, which they all had, he didn't remember Youji having any difficulties with insomnia. Aya was the one who had kept the silent nightly vigils.

_Youji in the moonlight . . ._

Quite possibly, Aya knew, he was one of the reasons Youji wasn't sleeping well. The gunshot wound and grief for Ken could technically explain most of it away, but he was sure there was something else. He sighed, shifting in his seat.

Spending time with Youji again was dangerous. It reminded Aya of his bloody past, true, but it also recalled a time when he was precariously close to happiness. This had always been his dilemma regarding Youji. When Aya-chan had been in her coma, he had felt guilty for enjoying life. What right did he have to be happy while his sister's life was on hold? His relationship with Youji had been difficult for him to accept because of this. It was obvious to him even then ... Youji was offering him happiness without his sister. That couldn't be right.

But now, with this strange emptiness invading his life and his thoughts, even with Aya-chan close by his side, Youji was tempting him again. Aya knew the older man still cared. It was undeniably there in his actions and his words. Could he be with Youji and still retain a semblance of Ran for Aya-chan?

No, he couldn't.

Part of Youji's allure was that Aya could be his true self, which he felt uncomfortable doing around his sister, even now that he realized she knew about his past. He could be Aya instead of Ran. He _needed_ to be Aya. He wasn't sure if he could do that without pushing Aya-chan away. The thought of Aya-chan leaving him still made his heart beat faster, his breath come short, a terrifying darkness impinge on his vision.

Could he explain to Aya-chan who he was, who Aya was? He saw now, that if he really wanted to heal himself, to sew the edges of his torn world back together, he had to stop living in the past, hoping and wishing he was still Ran. He could never be Ran again. He could not change the fundamental premise of who he was, or the irrefutable forces that had shaped him.

If Aya-chan didn't want him, would Youji be enough? Would he seep through the cracks and gaps in Aya's heart and fill the hollow chamber below?

Perhaps he had been building up to this struggle with his identity for a while now. Perhaps his growing unease at the charade he and his sister had played only had needed a catalyst to explode into his awareness. Was it symbolic, he wondered, that the person who had shed this light was the only other person who occupied that small, shriveled organ that had become his heart? Yes, Youji was there. He couldn't lie anymore.

He was ready. He was ready for change. And this time he would reach out and change life himself, instead of life reaching out and changing him.

It was almost dusk when they hit the outer limits of Tokyo. Aya shoved Youji lightly to wake him up. Youji grunted and blinked sleepily out the window. "Where am I going?" Aya demanded.

Glancing at his watch, Youji indulged in a jaw cracking yawn. "I'm hungry," he said. "I told Omi we'd see him in the morning. Let's go out to eat; there's nothing at my place."

"All right," Aya agreed easily. He glanced over at his passenger, marveling that even injured, even exhausted, Youji still held his attention, his mind's eye lingering on the way the setting sun touched Youji's face.

He drove automatically, down half remembered streets. As he parked along the sidewalk in front of a certain building, Youji looked at him questioningly.

"Ran?"

It had been their restaurant, his and Youji's, where they went when the Koneko became too small and cluttered with the detritus of four human lives. "Call me Aya," he said.


	5. Part V

"Aya-kun!" Omi rose and walked around his desk to give Aya an exuberant hug. "It's so good to see you!" He took a step back, flustered. "Oh, ah, I mean . . ."

"It's all right, Omi," Aya said. "Call me Aya, please. It's good to see you too." And it was. Omi had changed in the two years Aya had been away. He had grown a few inches, the top of his head now on a level with Aya's eyes. He had filled out some too, and the suit he wore was obviously expensive and tailored. His hair had darkened a little, but was still in the same shaggy style as before.

Youji, stepping out from behind Aya, said, "What, Omittchi, no hug for me?"

"Not if you keep calling me that," Omi said, his blue eyes twinkling. He motioned for them to sit down in the tasteful blue and grey chairs arranged around his desk. "I'm sorry that such depressing circumstances prompted your visit, Aya-kun."

Aya settled himself into the comfortable chair. That was Omi's way of letting him know the younger man was displeased with him for pulling a disappearing act two years ago. He sighed inwardly, knowing, as he had at the time, that his precipitous departure had probably hurt Omi deeply. In Omi's eyes, they weren't just a team. They were _family_. "Yes," he said simply.

Omi nodded, accepting his tacit apology. He plopped himself down in his chair, pulling a file folder out of a half open drawer and spreading the contents on the polished surface of his desk. Instead of looking at the papers, though, he steepled his fingers and stared off into space, gathering his thoughts. "Ok," he said finally. "A couple days before he died," Omi paused, a spasm of pain crossing his face before he composed himself and went on, "Ken snuck in here and accessed your file, Aya-kun."

So that's how the killer knew where to look in Osaka. Leaning back, Aya glanced at Youji. Youji made a negative gesture with his hand, low enough that it was hidden below the desk from Omi. He had apparently not informed Omi of that little incident. Aya pressed his lips together. "Omi," he started.

"I guess he was just curious. I knew you wanted a clean break," Omi said apologetically, misinterpreting his reaction. "If you hadn't brought Aya-chan to Momoe-san's already, I would have suggested it."

"Aa." Kritiker, of course, had trained them for the eventuality of capture, but it was hard to predict what one would do in a situation like that. Ken . . .

Youji chose that moment to change the subject. "What happened yesterday, Omittchi? You said someone had attacked you."

Omi made a face at the nickname. "Yes." He fiddled with a pen. "I was inspecting a building, a warehouse, actually. The electricity was turned off, so we were using flashlights. Sato-san pulled me out. Hayashi-san didn't make it," he added miserably.

Lighting a cigarette, Youji said, "Their first priority is your safety, Omi."

Aya nodded in agreement. "We need you here."

"I know." Omi sighed. "I think, at this point, it's safe to assume that a person or persons unknown are targeting Weiss."

Youji snorted. "You could say that."

Omi gave him a questioning look, but Youji avoided his gaze. "I've given it some thought," he continued, "and I think instead of waiting here like sitting ducks, we should go out and look for them."

"You mean we need someone to be bait," Youji clarified.

Nodding, Omi explained, "That way we can meet them on our own terms, and we aren't taken by surprise. The other two can be in place as backup"

"Other two?" Youji stubbed out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe. "Omi, there's no way you can participate."

Aya silently concurred. Omi was far too important to Kritiker as an organization to risk his life, no matter how dire the situation was, or how important the people involved were to him. He knew Youji had a protective streak a mile wide, and he felt an answering tug in himself. "We can do it ourselves," he said.

Seeing the determination written on both of their faces, Omi capitulated. "All right. Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Youji said decisively. "I can do it, and Aya can back me up."

"What?" Aya turned his head to stare incredulously at Youji.

"You shouldn't be involved any more than you have to," Youji pointed out. "You have Aya-chan to go back to in Osaka."

 _Of all the –_ "You're injured," he growled.

"You're _what_?" Omi exclaimed. He pointed an accusing finger at Youji. "What happened in Osaka? I knew there was something you weren't telling me!"

Youji held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Maa maa," he said. "I can explain."

"He was shot," Aya said bluntly. "Someone was following him. Luckily for us, they had bad aim. That's why he didn't check in with you earlier, and that's why we were in Nagoya."

"Hey!" Youji sounded angry. "Can I please explain myself here?"

Omi cut him off. "Youji," he said firmly. "Never do that again." He narrowed his eyes at Youji, pinning him to the chair. "You will run back-up for Aya, got it? And no heroics. That goes for both of you."

With a venomous glare for the two of them, Youji settled into sullen silence. Aya shifted uncomfortably in his seat. No heroics? Omi knew them too well. "Any clues as to who it is?" he asked.

Shaking his head, Omi replied, "Not really. I've already ruled out Schwartz."

"They're dead," Youji said.

"We think," Aya pointed out.

"Exactly." Omi shuffled some papers on his desk. "But it doesn't make sense for them to kill Nakata-san first. They already know who was in Weiss."

"Unless they were trying to confuse us." Aya leaned forward.

Omi tilted his head in thought. "Could be. It doesn't really fit their MO, though, does it?"

"Who cares." Youji lit up another cigarette. "We'll find out soon enough."

"Youji!" Omi exclaimed.

Youji shrugged, about to reply when the phone's shrill ring stopped him. Omi picked it up before it finished the second ring. "Tsukiyono." He paused, obviously listening to the person on the other end. ". . . yes . . . absolutely . . ."

Aya and Youji exchanged glances, standing at the same time. Omi looked up and mouthed "See you later," as he jotted down notes on a legal pad. They practically tiptoed out of the office, letting the door close softly behind them.

"Thanks for getting me in trouble back there," Youji said as they climbed into Aya's Porsche.

"You should have told him before," Aya said, turning carefully out of the parking garage into the busy streets of downtown Tokyo.

"I didn't want to make him worry," Youji muttered.

"It's his job to worry," Aya said drily.

"Mmm." Youji stared out the window, frowning.

Aya didn't mind. He preferred to drive in silence, to concentrate on the half-memorized route back to Youji's apartment. The enormous weight of humanity pressed in on them from all sides. It was just after lunch hour, and it seemed every salaryman in Tokyo had gone out to eat.

As soon as he unlocked the door to his apartment, Youji vanished into his bedroom. Aya sat down on the couch, unsure of what to do. He curled his toes into the thick carpet on Youji's floor. Decadent. Youji appeared a short time later, wearing ratty jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt. He had pulled his hair into a high ponytail, subtly enhancing his almond shaped eyes. Tugging on a stocking cap, he effectively disguised the color and length of his hair.

"Where are you going?" Aya asked sharply.

"Out," Youji replied, shoving his feet into a pair of tennis shoes sitting by the door. Slouching, he looked like any other young, dissatisfied twenty-something with nothing better to do than loiter on street corners and harass pedestrians. Aya was shocked at the extent of the transformation, from so few small changes.

"It's too dangerous," he protested. "You shouldn't go out alone."

"No one will recognize me. Why don't you draw up a mission plan or something while I'm gone? We can talk about it later, when I get back."

Aya grunted, irritated with Youji for his irresponsible behavior over the past few days, too stubborn to push and ask exactly where the older man was going. "Go," he said. "I can't stop you."

Youji slammed the door on his way out.

* * *

Aya woke, opening his eyes slowly. Youji was sitting facing him, a shot glass and a half empty bottle of something beside him on the table. He blinked once when he saw Aya's eyes focus on him, but he didn't say a word, continuing to sit, and stare.

"What?" Aya asked, irritated at the _watching_.

Youji finished off what was in the shot glass before answering. "Why did you tell me to call you Aya?"

 _I thought you would know. I thought you would understand._ Aya turned over on the couch, dragging the blankets with him, burying his face in the corner between armrest and back. Could he say it out loud? He had never been good with words. They were slippery, sliding out of his tongue's grasp like water. "I," he began hesitantly, his voice muffled by the cushions, "I can't pretend to be someone I'm not anymore. Aya-chan deserves better than that."

"Only Aya-chan?" There was a clink of glass, a small splash of liquid.

 _I can't . . ._ He wished suddenly, violently, that he wasn't a coward, that he could turn over, look Youji in the eye, see his face. But he couldn't. "No," he said hoarsely. "You, too."

A clunk – Youji setting the glass down on the thick wood of the table. A rustle – Youji standing up, moving across the room, toward the hallway, toward his bedroom. "Go back to sleep, Aya," he said, his voice gentler than it had been before. "It's late."

Before he could help it, Aya was asleep again, Youji's voice sending him into slumber like some kind of drug. When he awoke for the second time that morning, the sun had beat him by several hours. Judging from the hushed silence of the apartment, Youji had followed his own advice and gone to sleep as well.

Aya lay on the couch for a minute longer, gathering up the motivation to start a new day. He had spent the better part of the day before pacing, worrying about Youji, instead of coming up with some sort of plan to trap their hunters into becoming the hunted. Really, he didn't see what he could do, besides put himself in a prominent place and wait for someone to take a shot at him. That didn't sound so appealing, even with Youji as backup.

It was dangerous. Truthfully, he didn't really have any qualms about placing himself in that kind of danger, but getting Youji involved as well made him pause. No matter what Omi thought, finding whoever was targeting them was just as perilous as sitting around waiting for something to happen. Perhaps it would be easier for just one of them to create the trap, drawing their prey in unawares. That would at least give them an idea as to whether it was an individual or a group. Well, there was no reason he couldn't do that by himself.

Aya stretched, feeling his joints protest. Youji's couch wasn't the most comfortable in the world. It probably hadn't been purchased with sleeping in mind. And anyone who was staying the night inevitably ended up in the bedroom. Youji wasn't one for house guests.

He kept his mind carefully neutral all through a shower, as if Youji would somehow read his intentions in his sleep and wake up to stop him. Resisting the urge to check on the older man, to make sure he was still sleeping, Aya buckled on his holster over the top of a black t-shirt. He checked the clip in his gun before settling it firmly against his ribs. It wouldn't do to go out unprepared, and he could hardly carry his katana around all day. The weather was all wrong for full length leather trench coats. Shoving an extra clip into the pocket of his jacket, he slipped out the door, closing and locking it softly behind him.

Walking to the subway station, Aya took a deep breath. He had left Youji his keys, preferring to avoid the hassle of driving in downtown Tokyo if he could help it. He took the subway to the Kritiker building first, figuring it was as good a place to start as any, maybe better. How else were they going to pick up his trail?

Meandering around the business section of Tokyo, he casually tried to see if someone was following him. There were too many people though, and as before, the crowd pressed in on him, trying to swallow him up, trying to fit him into a mold. Well he didn't fit. He never had.

An idea had been forming in the back of his mind all morning. It was something he needed to do alone, away from the prying eyes of his teammates, and it would be an easier place to spot a tail. He had sorely neglected his duties as the eldest son to look after his family's grave and pay respects to his ancestors in the past two years. His mind made up, Aya headed for the subway again.

He didn't bother keeping a close watch for people tailing him on the train. It was just the beginning of the lunch hour, and the cars were crammed full of people. Nevertheless, he stood with his back to the wall by the door. No sense in taking stupid chances when simple precautions could save his life. The crowd gradually thinned out as they sped away from the heart of the city.

It was a ten minute walk from the station to the cemetery where the ashes of his parents had been buried. As Aya entered the gates, a sense of calm washed over him. It was always this way. He stopped short in surprise at the foot of the shrine.

There were old flowers on his family's grave. Aya stared stupidly at the limp blossoms. They looked to be about a week old, maybe a little more. He bent down, touching the soft petals of the white chrysanthemums gently. _Who could have . . ._

The plot looked neat and trim, totally unlike the mess he had been expecting. _Someone_ had been taking care of it. No. It couldn't have been. Ken wouldn't have thought of it, though, even if he were still alive, and Omi definitely would have at least told him, if not asked his permission first. Why had Youji done something like this?

Had he cared this whole time? Impossible.

Aya caught a hint of motion off to the side and snapped his head around. He relaxed his hold on the butt of his gun as he saw it was just another mourning couple a little way down the hill. If anyone was following him he had chosen to remain hidden.

Kneeling, Aya clapped his hands three times to garner the attention of his ancestors' spirits. He bent his head, as if in prayer, but his eyes were open, watching. The couple below him walked slowly away, leaving him more or less alone. Still, no one rose to the challenge. No shots broke the stillness of the afternoon air.

He sighed. Wandering aimlessly around Tokyo for the rest of the afternoon wasn't very appealing, but returning to Youji's apartment was even less so. He needed time to think. Aya wanted time to sort through the puzzle pieces of Youji's behavior and see if he could put them together into some sort of coherent whole. And where did he fit in? Where did he want to fit in?

So he walked. He walked, and memories came flooding back. His sister, laughing as she dabbled her fingers in that fountain. Youji sleepily smoking a cigarette at that outside cafe. His parents, holding hands as they walked ahead of him, heads leaning together as they whispered to each other like teenagers. Aya-chan lagging behind, looking longingly at a dress in that store's front window. The corner where Youji had made him blush for the first time, by slipping a hand into the back pocket of Aya's jeans. Youji, a little drunk, clinging to that tree and laughing like a child. Youji. Youji. Youji.

It was already getting dark when Aya decided to head back to Youji's apartment. He took a shortcut he knew, through a quieter, more residential section of town. There was a subway station just a few blocks from the other side. Aya felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. The air hung heavy, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting. Waiting for what? The tension abruptly, inexplicably cleared as the lamp above him flickered and went out.

A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye was all the warning Aya had. He was reaching for his gun as a hard body barreled into him, pushing him to the ground. He hit hard on his left shoulder, twisting his body so he rolled on his back, the gun pointed straight at his assailant's head. His eyes widened in shock.

It was _Ken_ kneeling above him. _Ken_ with the street lights glinting in his wild eyes. _Ken_ with his fist raised, bugnuks out, waiting to strike. _Ken_ with his mouth twisted into a snarl.

They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, as still as stone. Aya felt his arm start to shake, his muscles straining. "Ken," he whispered finally.

The fire died in Ken's eyes. Abruptly he stood and vanished into the darkening street, his footsteps making no sound.

Aya let his arm fall, his gun clattering on the pavement. He gazed unseeingly straight up at the night sky. The first stars were peeking out, shyly spreading their cool light over the earth. It hadn't been a ghost. Ken was alive, and Ken wanted to kill them.


	6. Part VI

"Shit, what are we gonna tell Omi?" Youji slumped in the passenger seat of Aya's car, fiddling with his lighter.  
Aya didn't bother to answer. They had already had this conversation several times the night before, and several times again since Youji had woken up.

It was almost gratifying how worried Youji had been when Aya had finally staggered in. It had taken all his willpower to get up off the ground in that quiet neighborhood and ride the subway back to Youji's apartment. He hadn't felt like explaining himself, so he didn't. Just said, 'Ken's not dead,' and collapsed on the couch, his arm over his eyes. Youji had realized the significance, had put two and two together all on his own. And then, he had hovered, as if Aya's confession early that morning, god, it already felt like a lifetime ago, had only made him less sure of where he stood, what Aya wanted. Youji didn't touch, didn't reach out, and Aya ached for something he couldn't even articulate.

Youji had gone to bed after Aya had snapped at him for the umpteenth time, 'I don't know.' He had added, 'Leave me alone'. So Youji did. And for some reason, Aya was angry that he had, instead of relieved.

He pulled into the underground parking garage smoothly, nodding at the security guard.

"Name and business," the man said, producing out a clipboard.

"Fujimiya Aya and Kudou Youji. We're here to see Tsukiyono-san."

The guard flipped through his list for a moment. "I'll need to see some I.D."

Aya had the cards ready. He handed them over and the guard squinted through the window to look at Youji's face. Youji grinned and waggled his fingers at the man. Omi had given Aya a temporary clearance for the time he was in Tokyo. Youji, as an occasional employee, apparently had a more permanent arrangement.

The gate keeper gave the cards back to Aya and then punched in a code on a keypad to open the gate. It rose noiselessly. Kritiker was well ordered in Omi's capable hands. Aya appreciated it. Other people always missed the little things.

After he turned off the engine, they sat wordlessly for a few minutes, bracing themselves for what lay ahead. Aya was dreading this more than anything, except the day Aya-chan found out what he was really like. On that day . . . He pulled himself back from the precipice with difficulty at the sound of Youji's voice.

"Well, let's get this over with, shall we?" Youji unbuckled his seatbelt with a soft click.

Their footsteps echoed as they walked toward the elevator. Youji punched the security code as Aya pushed the call button impassively. The tension increased until Aya felt he could see it visibly in the air between them during the interminable ride upstairs. Omi's office door was at the very end of the hallway. It was standing half way open, and Aya surmised that the guard must have called ahead. Somehow the fact that Omi was expecting them didn't make it any easier.

"Here goes nothing," Youji muttered as they stepped inside. He nudged the door back with his foot, closing it with a soft thud and ensuring their privacy.

Omi was leaning against the edge of his desk, idly flipping through a plain manila file folder. He set it down behind him when he heard the door shut. "What's up?" he asked, taking in their too serious faces.

One glance at Youji's face told Aya it was up to him. He took a step forward. "Ken's not dead," he said heavily.

"What?" Omi stood up straight in surprise. "But that means," he said almost to himself, then he turned anguished eyes to Youji. "That's not possible!"

"I'm afraid it is, kiddo," Youji said, his voice gentle. "I'm sorry."

"How do you know?"

Aya winced at the tremor in Omi's voice. No matter how hard this was for him and Youji, it had to be doubly hard for Omi. After being betrayed by his blood relatives, betrayal by one of his surrogate family had to be painful. And that's what it was - Ken's betrayal. His renouncement of Weiss, and his attempts to sever those ties amounted to a terrible betrayal of the only real family Omi had ever known, as dysfunctional as they were. Out of the corner of his eye, Aya saw Youji take a few hesitant steps toward the younger man.

"He," Youji began.

At the soft snick of the door handle depressing, Aya turned. "Youji," he said sharply. He stilled his automatic reach for the gun hidden snugly under his left arm as Ken slipped through the door and closed it softly.

Pointing a gun straight at Omi's head, Ken said evenly, "Don't move."

"Ken!" Omi's horrified whisper seemed to reverberate in the room.

"What's wrong, Omi-kun?" Ken mocked. "You look like you've seen a ghost." He gave a low chuckle at his own joke.

Omi spread his arms wide. "Why are you doing this?" he stuttered. "We're your friends."

Ken's face twisted. "You're not my friend!" he yelled.

Youji's mouth opened and closed. "What?" he managed.

Ken didn't even look in Youji's direction. "You are the one that made me this way," he snarled at Omi, his lips curling over his teeth.

The moment Aya saw Ken's finger tighten on the trigger he was reaching for his gun. But it was too late, too late. "Omi!" Youji screamed as the bullet impacted Omi's chest, jolting his body before he slowly crumpled to the floor. An ominous dark stain spread around the wound.

Ken laughed.

It was something that would haunt Aya for the rest of his life. Ken laughed, and it seemed like all the evil in the world was wrapped up in that one sound. It was eerie and wicked and infinitely satisfied. Ken was still laughing as he turned, raising his weapon, and without a second thought Aya steadied his gun hand and fired.

The first shot jerked Ken's head back. His eyes seemed to widen in surprise and the smile abruptly vanished from his face. Aya kept firing as Ken fell, emptying the clip into his chest.

Ken's blood soaked into the deep blue carpet, turning it black in an ever widening stain. Aya stared at it in fascination. He felt a great weight pressing down on his shoulders, pushing him toward the ground like gravity multiplied a hundred times. His knees wobbled. Dimly, through the ringing in his ears, Aya could hear Youji pleading with Omi to be all right. The world melted away, leaving him with the deepening black of the carpet and Ken's unforgiving dead eyes.

It all seemed so far away. He couldn't take his eyes off the blood.

"Aya, call security! Aya? Aya!"

* * *

"So after that, I had to sit around and wait for them to finish the surgery." Youji unlocked his apartment door and slipped through, Aya following silently behind. The minute Youji had climbed into the driver's seat of Aya's Porsche at the hospital, he'd started talking, and had kept up a running dialogue all the way back. Aya hadn't been able to face going into the hospital with Omi, so he had waited numbly in the car for what had probably been hours. He couldn't remember.

Aya hadn't said a single word in the car. He only heard snatches of what Youji was saying, too caught up in the nightmare of Ken falling over and over and over again in his mind. The roar of the gun in his ears, the strange echoing sound of Ken's laughter, the look in his eyes, the blood spreading, spreading . . .

He closed his eyes, but that only served to immerse him more fully in the dream. He jumped when Youji laid a concerned hand on his arm, his green eyes digging deep into Aya's soul. "Are you all right?"

A strange anger bubbled up from somewhere deep inside Aya's gut. _Ken's dead. Ken's dead and I killed him and you're asking me if I'm all right?_ He bared his teeth and slammed Youji back into the wall savagely. _You don't understand. You never understood anything about what I need! What I need . . ._ He pressed his lips to Youji's, muffling his surprised exclamation with the force of his tongue. Youji's hands rested tentatively on his hips, belying the desperate hunger in his answering kiss.

Aya broke the kiss and swung Youji around, pushing him toward the bedroom. He shed his jacket, dropping it carelessly on the floor next to his shoes. Youji backed away, eyes a little wide, as Aya stalked toward him.

_I want to bury myself in you. I want you to help me forget._

"Aya," Youji faltered as Aya shoved him again, this time onto the bed.

He knelt over Youji and kissed him roughly. Youji clutched Aya's shirt, arching against him as Aya nipped at his neck. _Why don't you ever let me forget?_ He was drowning himself in Youji's mouth, dark and sweet, trying to shut out the horror and the blood. He fumbled with the buttons on Youji's jeans with one hand, propping himself up with the other arm.

Youji tore his mouth away, gasping for air. His lips were red from the force of their kisses. Opening his eyes, he turned his head to look at Aya.

Aya froze at the hint of fear he saw deep in Youji's eyes. He raised himself slowly, so that he was sitting back on his knees. _What am I doing?_ The rage buried itself again, simmering under the surface of his psyche. He touched Youji's parted lips with a hand that trembled. "No, Youji," he whispered. "I'm not okay."

Pushing himself off the bed, Aya walked dazedly toward the living room, sparing one glance back at Youji. He had raised himself up on one elbow, a bewildered expression on his face. His hair was tousled, his shirt was riding up his stomach, and his pants were half undone. _Oh god. I just ..._ Youji opened his mouth as if to speak, but if he said anything, Aya didn't hear it as he practically ran out of the room and threw himself at the farthest corner of the couch.

He sat with his head in his hands, rubbing at his face tiredly. _What have I done?_ Aya shook his head slowly, as much to clear it as to deny the day's events. Ken was dead by his hand, and he felt nothing. All Youji had been trying to do was comfort him, support him and he had ...

He had done it again. He had hurt someone he cared about. (He still shied away from the word "love", even now.) He had always been so afraid of being hurt that he had pushed everyone away, but in the end he always let them in. And then he failed them, just like he had failed Youji just now, and all those years ago, when he had left for the first time. Just like he had failed to protect Omi from Ken, and Ken from himself.

Aya ran his hands through his hair. How could he have shot Ken? Youji would have found some other way, he would have protected Omi, he would have saved Ken. Aya had made things worse. He couldn't even muster any grief over Ken's death. He had already mourned, before this.

Cursed. That's what he was. He was bad luck. Tragedies multiplied around him. Everyone would be better off if he left. Youji certainly would. Aya was dangerous. He didn't ever want to see Youji look at him with real fear in his eyes. Youji didn't need that. And Aya-chan would always be in danger if Aya was around. His failure to protect Omi made it clear that he was too incompetent to protect Aya-chan as well. He had always known that, but he had pushed it to the back of his mind, subsumed it with the desire to protect her, and his selfish desire to keep her pure love.

Leaning back on the couch, Aya stared out the window. The sky was just barely beginning to lighten. In just a few hours he could go see Omi. He would apologize, he would ask Omi to look after Aya-chan, and say goodbye. They would all lead better lives without him. Aya-chan would never be hurt by the killer he had become, and Youji . . . Youji would never want to see him again anyway. He could go far away, shut himself off, and never hurt them again.

As it turned out, he hadn't had to worry about someone breaking his heart. He had done it himself.


	7. Part VII

Aya paused just outside the door to Omi's private hospital room. The Magic Bus hadn't changed a bit in the two years he had been gone. He had to fight down a moment of nausea at the memory of Aya-chan, still like death on white sheets. He needed to remember her alive and happy, laughing. He would never see her again. Was this the right way? If he stayed, he would only have to explain to Aya-chan why he was choosing to remain Aya instead of Ran. He would have to tell her what kind of person he had become. It was better that she never know.

 _Coward!_ something deep inside him screamed.

Taking a calming breath, Aya walked through the doorway. Omi was listlessly flipping through a limp magazine with one hand. His other arm was wrapped in a sling and strapped to his chest. Omi glanced up when he heard Aya's footsteps on the white tile floor.

Now that he was here, he didn't know what to say. He hadn't really thought about anything beyond leaving Tokyo, and his sister's safety. "Omi," he said.

Omi gave him a tired smile. "What are you doing here so early?" He indicted the lone plastic chair by his bed. "Have a seat."

Aya sat. His body ached from lack of sleep, so even the hard, cushionless chair felt like heaven. Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, he blurted out, "Omi, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what, Aya-kun?" Omi looked surprised.

"Ken," Aya explained, feeling intensely his lack of words.

Omi was silent for a moment, staring off into space. "Ken." He paused. "Ken hadn't been right for a while." He dropped the magazine on the small bedside table, turning his sad eyes on Aya. "Every time he came back from a mission, it was worse. I didn't know what to do." Angrily, Omi wiped away the tears that were creeping down his cheeks.

"What about –" Aya began hesitantly.

"Youji didn't know," Omi interupted. He gave up the fight with tears and clenched his free hand in his lap. "I didn't want to tell him; he has enough troubles of his own."

Aya frowned. What kind of worries did Youji have? He snapped his mind back from that train of thought as Omi continued.

"A few months ago we had a huge fight. I wanted to take him off of active duty, but he insisted on staying." Omi drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them awkwardly with his good arm. "Ken was my best friend," he said, his voice muffled by the blankets. "But after that we drifted apart." He pressed his face into his knees. "I shouldn't have let it get that bad. I should have done something, not kept putting it off. I didn't want to deal with it and now look what's happened!"

"It's not your fault, Omi," Aya said. He wanted to say more, to reach out to the younger man, but he didn't know how.

"It's not your fault either." Omi turned his tear-stained face toward Aya. "It's my responsibility to take care of my agents, and I failed. You did what you had to, Aya-kun, to protect me. You had no choice."

 _There must have been some other way!_ Aya rubbed his face tiredly. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I have to go."

"You have to go? Go where?" Omi sat up, his face alert. "You're leaving?"

"Aa." Aya stood, wincing when his joints creaked in protest.

"You can't just leave? What about Youji? This will destroy him!" Omi wiped away the last remnants of his grief with a corner of the sheet. "You can't just leave again without another word, Aya-kun."

Aya felt the familiar, cold weight of guilt settle in the pit of his stomach. _I'll just make things worse if I stay. Please understand._ "Can you watch over Aya-chan, Omi? I trust you."

"Yes," Omi whispered in a small, sad voice.

Turning his back so he didn't have to look into Omi's eyes, Aya said, "Thank you." He was almost to the door when Omi stopped him.

"Aya?"

Aya looked back over his shoulder. Omi was curled on his side on the bed. He looked small and lost, buried under the blankets. He waited.

"Can you stay until I fall asleep? Just sit with me."

By way of an answer, Aya walked slowly back to the chair. He settled himself down, pulling one foot up to rest on the seat so he could lay his head on his knee. Closing his eyes, he listened to Omi's soft, rhythmic breaths.

"I just don't want to be alone right now." It was so quiet, Aya wasn't entirely sure if he had dreamed it.

_Neither do I._

* * *

"Hey."

Aya jerked his eyes open. His stomach sank Youji was kneeling on the floor, his hand hovering just above Aya's thigh. "I didn't know my couch was that uncomfortable," he said wryly. He finally let his hand come to rest, squeezing slightly.

"I wanted to talk to Omi." Youji's hand was warm on Aya's leg. _Don't tempt me,_ he begged. _Don't tempt me to stay._ He had hurt Youji so many times, and Youji had never learned to leave well enough alone. He was strong enough to be alone. _I will be strong enough to leave, to save Youji from myself._

"You're leaving, aren't you?"

Aya couldn't bear to meet Youji's eyes. He fixed his gaze on the hills and valleys of Omi's blankets, blindly following the patterns. "I should go back to Aya-chan," he lied.

"Please don't leave me again."

Aya started as Youji laid his head on his thigh. He hesitantly put his hand on Youji's hair, stroking it softly. His fingers missed the tactile pleasure of burying themselves in Youji's long waves. "I'll just hurt you if I stay," he whispered. _Like I almost did last night. How could you ever love me after that?_

"Aya, I -" Youji gripped Aya's calf, as if he were trying to anchor him to the floor. "I trust you,' he finished.

Aya's hand stilled. "You shouldn't," he said hoarsely.

"Shh." Suddenly Youji was kneeling in between his legs, his warm hands on either side of Aya's face. "Just stay." He leaned forward until their breath was mingling, their foreheads pressed together, and ever so slowly, touched his lips to Aya's.

The kiss was soft and gentle, and completely unlike anything Aya had experienced before. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste of Youji's mouth, sweet like the cinnamon gum he chewed when he couldn't smoke. Youji's tongue stroked his own, and erased every kiss he had given and every kiss he received, until his world ended and began with Youj's hands in his hair and Youji's cologne in his nose and Youji's lips on his.

When it ended they were both breathless. Youji laid his head on Aya's shoulder and pulled him forward so he could wrap his arms around his waist. Aya returned the hug, sliding his hands up and down Youji's back.

"Besides." Youji's voice whispered along Aya's neck and sent electric shivers down his spine. "You still have to take me to Kyoto to get my car, you bastard."

Something broke free in Aya at that moment. _Is this what's it's like to be forgiven?_ To his wonderment, a laugh grew inside him, warm and tingling like that moment right before an orgasm. Aya could feel Youji's answering smile spreading across his neck as he shook with silent amusement. Could he, should he be happy? Could he, on this day with Ken dead, and Omi guilt-ridden and miserable, with Aya-chan separated from him by too many miles?

 _Yes,_ he decided, _I can._


	8. Part VIII

"Aya-chan." Aya stopped at the entrance to Youji's apartment building.  
Aya-chan paused in the doorway, glancing confusedly between Youji and Omi making their way toward the stairs and Aya waiting outside.

"We'll go make tea," Youji threw over his shoulder, catching the hint. "Right, Omi?"

"Oh, um, yeah," Omi said, following Youji to the stairwell. His arm was still in a sling to prevent unnecessary jostling of his healing shoulder. He had argued with the doctor about it, wanting to be able to wear a suit properly today, for Ken's funeral. It had been a small affair, but Omi had insisted on following tradition.

Studying the ground, Aya bit his lip. He could hear Aya-chan shuffling her feet, waiting for him to say something. Now that he had her alone, he wasn't at all sure how to begin.

"So when are we going back to Osaka?" Aya-chan finally asked.

Aya winced. As soon as he had felt it was safe, he had told her she could go back to Osaka and attend her classes again. She had been living in their apartment alone for a week now. He had been dealing with it better than he thought he would. Of course, he had had other things to worry about, like Omi, and Ken's funeral arrangements, and his . . . relationship with Youji. He put those things aside for now, and focused on his sister's face. "I ..." _How do I say this, Aya-chan, I love you._ "I was thinking I would stay here. In Tokyo."

"Onii-chan?" She looked surprised. "What about ..."

"You can stay in Osaka," he assured her. "I want you to finish your degree."

Aya-chan grabbed his arm. "Let's walk around the block," she said.

She tugged at his arm, and his feet reluctantly moved. He didn't want to be having this conversation. He didn't want to explain his reasons for staying in Tokyo, when he wasn't even sure what they were himself. He didn't want to leave Aya-chan behind in Osaka. He wanted her in Tokyo, where he could keep an eye on her, keep her safe.

"What about you? What are you going to do?" She gave him a sidelong glance, tossing her hair out of her eyes.

"Youji asked me," he paused. Youji had asked him to stay. Was that the only reason? "He's a private detective, and he could use a partner."

Aya-chan squeezed his arm. "That's so cool! You're gonna be a P.I.!"

"It will be better than doing construction," he admitted.

"I can't wait to tell my friends!" She let go of his arm for a moment and twirled happily. "Have you found an apartment yet? You can't sleep on Youji's couch forever."

"Um," he stuttered. He pressed his lips together and willed the heat flushing his face away. "I don't really need an apartment."

"Oh," she said. "Did ..." She stopped walking. " _Oh._ " Turning to look at him critically, she asked, "You're not sleeping on Youji's couch, are you?"

Actually, he still was. "For now I am," he said simply. "Come on, it's getting late."

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Aya-chan always surprised him with how perceptive she was. He supposed he should have been used to it by now. But he still couldn't think of her as anything but his young, innocent little sister. "Are you going to be all right in Osaka?" he asked. "I don't have to stay here."

"I'll be fine, Ran, don't worry about me." She gave him a sunny smile. "The important thing is that you're happy. He makes you happy, doesn't he? I can see it in your eyes when you look at him."

Aya had to look away a moment. "I love you," he said almost fiercely.

She threaded her fingers with his and laid her head on his shoulder. "I love all of who you are," she said. "Ran, Aya, it doesn't matter. You're still my brother no matter what."

* * *

Youji flopped down on the couch, laying his head in Aya's lap and propping his feet up on the armrest. "They're finally gone."

Omi had taken Aya-chan back to Kritiker, where she had been staying while in Tokyo. It was more secure than a hotel, which was comforting to Aya. Besides, Youji didn't exactly have room on his couch.

Aya ruffled Youji's hair. On an impulse, he said, "I miss your hair."

"You do?" Youji grinned up at him. "Sometimes I do too. But people trust me more when I look . . . respectable."

" _I_ trusted you," Aya said.

"Did you?" Youji tilted his head back so he could see Aya's face. "Did you really?"

Aya forced himself to meet Youji's eyes. "With my life."

"Ah." Youji rolled onto his side, his back to Aya. "Not enough to stay."

Tracing the graceful line of Youji's neck with the tips of his fingers, Aya said, "It's me I don't trust. How can you trust me?"

Youji closed his eyes. "Is this about the night Ken died? You didn't do anything wrong, Aya, you didn't hurt me."

Aya's fingers stilled. "I saw your eyes, Youji. You were afraid of me."

"No, no, oh god, no." Youji moved so he was kneeling next to Aya on the couch. He took Aya's chin in his hand and stared into his eyes. "I was afraid that you were going to leave me afterwards. I was afraid to hope, and have you break my heart again."

Brushing Youji's cheek with the back of his hand Aya whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Aya." Youji's gaze was completely serious. "If you stay this time, it has to be for good. I ..."

Aya kissed him. What Youji was asking would be difficult, but . . . If Youji trusted him, then maybe he should start to trust himself. He wanted to be happy. This desire for happiness had eaten away at his belief that he didn't deserve to be happy until there was hardly any doubt left in his mind. And Aya-chan was right. Youji made him happy.

He leaned into the kiss, turning so that his whole body was facing Youji, one hand on the back of the couch, the other in Youji's hair. He slowly lowered Youji back into the couch, pausing long enough for him to get his legs out from underneath them.

Youji broke the kiss to pull Aya completely on top of him, wrapping one leg around Aya's body, the other dangling off the edge of the couch. They both gasped as their hips touched. "Oh, I missed you," Youji whispered, nuzzling Aya's hair with soft lips. "I need you so much." He touched Aya's ear with just the tip of his tongue.

Aya buried his face in Youji's neck and breathed him in deep. He was already completely hard. It had been so long . . . And he hadn't wanted anyone but Youji, deep down, for all those years.

He kissed Youji again, pushing his groin gently into Youji's, reveling in the taste and feel of the older man's moan. Youji's hands were stroking his back, untucking his dress shirt and pulling his undershirt up to tease the sensitive skin at the bottom of his spine.

"I've been waiting for this for so long," Youji said, echoing Aya's own thoughts.

"Shush." Aya silenced Youji with a quick kiss. "You talk too much."

Youji grinned. "Now that you're here to listen I don't think I'm ever going to ... ah."

Aya smiled to himself as he caressed Youji's neck with his lips and tongue, carefully tasting every inch of his skin. The only surefire way to get Youji to shut up was to distract him, and that's exactly what he planned on doing. He worked a hand between them, unbuttoning Youji's shirt and pulling it away from his chest. Squirming down a little, Aya tasted each bit of golden skin as he exposed it, learning his lover's body all over again.

"Aya," Youji breathed, arching under his touch. He tried to pull Aya up for another kiss, but he resisted.

"No," Aya told him. "This is for you."

He wanted to make this last, he wanted to do this right, he wanted to leave Youji breathless. He wanted to make up for all the leaving, all the fighting, all the yelling and blaming and the anger. So Aya took his time, exploring with his mouth and hands, discovering places he had never really forgotten. The two brown peaks of Youji's nipples, stiff and hard under his fingertips, the ticklish place on the side of Youji's ribs, the ripple of his abdominal muscles, the almost invisible trail of hair leading from his belly button into his pants.

Youji's hips bucked as Aya traced the outline of his erection through the soft weave of his slacks. "Please, Aya," he gasped.

Aya reared back on his heels, unbuttoning and shrugging out of his shirt. Youji sat up a little and wiggled free of both his slacks and underwear at once. His black shirt slid off his shoulders, held on only by Youji's bent elbows and the buttoned cuffs. Aya pushed him back down. "Leave the shirt on," he said.

A slow smile spread across Youji's face. He trailed his fingers up his rib cage. "Like what you see?" he asked, raising an eyebrow seductively.

Aya drank in the sight of his lover. His skin seemed all the warmer with the stark contrast of his dark shirt. His hair was disarranged, his lips parted, his eyes soft. His sex jutted upward proudly, rock hard and leaking, the foreskin already pulled back a little, exposing the sensitive tip.

"Yes,"he growled, then bent down and swallowed Youji whole.

"God!" Youji convulsed around him. "Oh, Aya, oh god, baby that feels so good." He wove his fingers through Aya's hair, stroking and pulling gently.

Aya worshiped Youji's cock with his mouth, taking him deep, then caressing the head with his tongue. As Youji's breathing became more erratic, he established a rhythm, gripping the base of Youji's erection with one hand. He closed his eyes, savoring the salty sweet taste of Youji's pre-cum and sweat, his natural musk as it mixed with his ever present cologne.

Youji's hands were touching his face, gently brushing his closed eyelids, tracing the outline of his ear, smoothing over his hair. Suddenly he grabbed Aya's supporting arm in a bruising grip and cried, "Aya, Aya, I love you!"

Then Youji came, hot and bitter on the back of Aya's tongue. He held still, letting Youji fill his mouth, swallowing what he could. He held Youji in his hand until he felt him relax, his muscles going lax.

Youji tugged Aya upward until he was cradled awkwardly on Youji's chest. "Mmmm." He kissed Aya's temple. "Thank you."

"Did you mean what you said?" Aya asked tentatively.

"Yes." Youji's voice was deep, and rough.

He tried to move, to look at Youji's face, but the arms around him tightened.

"No. Don't run away. Please."

"Youji." Aya propped himself up on one elbow and touched Youji's cheek with his fingertips. "I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
